When the Dust Has Settled
by a.k.a.-ashley
Summary: It’s been six weeks since the shooting and needless to say I don’t think I’ve done the greatest job handling it. Lucas POV


**when the dust has settled**

A/N: I realize there will be a million post shooting fics in the coming weeks, nd I have another one in the works, but I just wanted to try something a little different here. I thought it would work best as a one-parter. I hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

I've spent the last forty-five minutes of my Saturday afternoon sitting across from a middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses, and a gut that hangs over the rim of his belt. He has this obnoxious habit of writing things down in his little spiral notebook every time we so much as make eye contact. His name is Doctor Paulson, he's my new shrink.

It's been six weeks since the shooting and needless to say I don't think I've done the greatest job handling it. My mom agrees with me and now here I am, I think she just needs me out of the house so she can grieve alone. Keith's dead. They don't know how exactly it happened, they think he tried to wrestle the gun away from Jimmy and the gun went off and now he's dead.

He's staring at me again. We've had three sessions like this. I sit in complete silence for an hour and he watches me and takes notes. I'm tired of the silence.

"Are we going to spend another hour just looking at each other? You're my shrink, I thought you were supposed to ask me questions."

"My job is just to sit here and listen to what you have to say Lucas, you don't have to talk if you don't want to." He adjusts the ugly tie under his plaid sweater vest and stares back at me.

"Tell you what, why don't you ask me a question so we can get this started."

"Alright, tell me how you're feeling."

"That's a good question doc." I know I'm being a smartass, and probably an ungrateful little prick but I just don't care. I don't care about a lot of things lately. "I watched my former friend whom I've practically ignored for the past year basically shoot up my high school. He held my half-brother and my best friend hostage, he shot my ex-girlfriend, and he killed the only father I have ever known. But after everything Jimmy has done, I can't bring myself to hate him because I'm part of the reason he did all this. So how am I feeling? I feel a little out of control"

Now that I've said more than five words he's got a lot to write in that little notebook, so he's scribbling furiously, nodding his head while he writes. When he finishes he looks up at me with his chin between his thumb and forefinger, he's like a walking cliché of the shrinks you see in movies. "Why do you blame yourself for what Jimmy Edwards did?"

"Because he was my friend until I started playing on the basketball team, and then I just stopped hanging out with him. The truth is I can't even remember when exactly I stopped being his friend. My life became basketball and girl problems and Jimmy just sort of faded into the distance. We'd known each other for years, he was a good friend, a good kid. I saw him for the first time in almost a year a few days before the shooting."

"What did he say to you, when you saw him for the first time?"

"I didn't actually see him in person. He was on a tape, some stupid time capsule for school. No one was ever supposed to see it, but someone played it for the whole school. He was talking about how much he hated school and the students. He was angry and he just looked so tired."

"What do you think he was tired of?"

"I don't know. Being picked on? Being ignored? We hear from people all the time that high school is the best four years of our lives but they don't know what it's like now. Before I started playing on the basketball team I knew what it was like for Jimmy. I used to get tormented by my half-brother's friends because of who my parents were. I'd walk down the hall and they'd call me a bastard or they'd tape up advertisements for my birth father's car dealership onto my locker. There were days I would fake sick so I wouldn't have to go to school. Adults don't know what it's like today, kids are assholes to each other. And some people just can't handle it."

"Do you think things would have been better if you'd helped him?"

"I don't know if I could have helped him because I never even noticed that things were wrong until it was too late."

"How do you feel about Jimmy now?"

"That's the question right there. How do I feel about Jimmy? I feel like hating him should come a lot easier."

"Why do you think you should hate Jimmy?"

"Look at what he's done. He waved a gun in the faces of my half-brother and my best friend. He shot Peyton, she could have died in that library. And Keith did die. He went into that school to help Jimmy and what did he get for it? A bullet into his heart. But I can't hate him, no matter what people say I don't think Jimmy went into that school with the intention of hurting anyone, much less killing someone. He was scared and tired and just wanted someone to pay attention."

"Tell me about Keith."

"You know this whole thing is a lot easier when you're asking me these questions." I'm back to being flip because it's easier than talking about him. The truth is I haven't even begun to come to terms with Keith being dead. In my own warped little world if I don't talk about it, if I don't admit it, than it's not true. Doctor Paulson has started to catch onto my game because when I look at him out of the corner of my eye he's just staring at me with his pen resting on top of that damn notebook.

"Keith is dead and he isn't supposed to be. He was supposed to marry my mom in two weeks and they're supposed to live happily ever after because that's what they deserved. And now she cries herself to sleep most nights, and during the day she spends all of her time working so she can avoid thinking about the fact that he's gone. She wants everyone to think that she's okay but it's not true, she's barely said five words to me in the last six weeks. I never see her, I eat dinner alone, the last conversation we had was her telling me that I needed to find someone to talk to because I wasn't grieving properly. She told _me_ that I wasn't grieving properly."

"Do _you_ think you're grieving Keith in a proper way?"

"What is the proper way to grieve? I always thought that if something like this ever happened I would be able to deal. I'm the one always coming to everyone else's rescue. I'm not supposed to be the one in therapy because I can't handle my uncle's death. But to answer your question, no I don't think I'm grieving in a constructive way. I want to be able to accept what's happened, move on, and take care of my mom. But to be perfectly honest with you I don't really feel like bringing up Keith today, I'm just not there yet."

"Let's talk about Peyton."

"Peyton is my ex-girlfriend, we dated for about six hours last year. She was shot in the leg and I helped her out of the library."

"You make your relationship sound so cavalier, but your eyes say something different when you talk about her."

I'm busted. This guy is good; I'll give him that. I know that moment in the library when she told me that she loved me changed everything. I didn't want things to change because I knew what it would mean, I'd be choosing between Brooke and Peyton and it would only mean bad things for their friendship and our friendships. But now that it's happened there really isn't any turning back.

"Peyton and I had and still have a very complicated relationship. I pursued her for a few months and I got tired of the chase and started going out with her best friend Brooke. Since then it's been back and forth between the two, which I know is incredibly unfair. I was dating Brooke when the shooting happened, we were happy and I was convinced that I loved her and then Peyton was shot and everything changed. I ran back into the building after I found out she was missing and there was this trail of blood and I knew as soon as I saw it that it was Peyton's."

"I found her bleeding in the library, I wanted to get her the hell out of there so we wouldn't get shot but she couldn't move and so we stayed put. She started losing consciousness from the loss of blood and told me that she loved me and then she kissed me. Up until that point I had pushed my feelings for her to the back of my head, I knew they would never go away but I could at least ignore them for the sake of mine and Brooke's relationship. But watching her slowly bleeding to death and hearing her say those words that for so long I'd wanted to hear, it just all came flooding back."

For some reason it makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better that he's writing this stuff down because in my mind it makes me feel like this relationship stuff isn't as trivial as it seems sometimes.

"When I was in that library and I thought I wasn't going to get her out in time, I don't know, I can't even describe what was going through my head. I just didn't want her to die without me being able to tell her that I loved her, and when she'd slip out of consciousness I'd pray to God or Jesus or whoever the hell is up there to not let her die, and I stopped believing in a higher power along time ago. I knew what it was like in that moment to be so desperate that I would have given up anything for her to live."

"So are you with her now?"

"No. I broke up with Brooke the day after the shooting, I know it was probably not the best timing but I just couldn't go back to her after what happened in the library and the way I felt about Peyton. It wouldn't have been fair to any of us if I'd kept up some charade."

"And so why aren't you with Peyton now?"

"Because then we'd be right back where we were, afraid to be with each other because we didn't want to hurt Brooke. And there's also this fear that maybe we just aren't supposed to be together, maybe we'll always end up hurting each other."

"But you love her?"

"Yeah, I love her." I'm staring at the inside of my hands like they're going to give the answers to all my questions because it all would be so easier if someone were telling me what to do. "So doc, can you tell me what I should do?"

"I'm afraid I can't make that decision for you Lucas." A timer goes off and the sudden noise makes my heart leap into my throat. "I'm afraid our session's over, but I think you've made a lot of progress."

"Thanks Doctor Paulson." I stand slowly from the leather sofa and slip my jacket on around my shoulders. Just as I'm about to head for the door he stops me.

"Lucas one more thing, you asked me what you should do about Peyton and I couldn't say because I'm your therapist but as a guy whose office you're standing in, I'd tell you to follow your heart."

I thank him again before leaving his office and walking out into the glaring afternoon sun. I pause on the sidewalk for a moment before turning and heading in the direction of Peyton's house.

_end_


End file.
